Some Light-Hearted Wren Fun

[Verdana]

Shaygrin listened to the boy expressionlessly. She did not take well to being lectured back, and she had already known everything that the young man was trying to tell her. He was right, of course, but that wasn't the point. He hadn't understood. Not really. He'd seen the surface of the message, but had been unable to venture deeper. This was frustrating for Shay. She'd have to explain in more depth, preferably before Malberry did something stupid.

Like stepping out into the crowd, for example, still dressed in late twenty-first century garb.

With a suppressed groan, she stepped out beside him. He'd just belted out an archaic phrase which made little sense to Shaygrin, which annoyed her greatly.
You fool, she hissed, in English, in his ear.
This is not about revenge. Revenge is futile. I know how this tale ends. I was here. If I see you, we're doomed. You'll ruin everything. We still have time. Get back into the undergrowth n-

Too late. The crowd had lulled, and the dazed, wounded Younger Shay had noticed. Her eyes registered confusion as they travelled from Malberry, then inevitably to herself. Then there was an awful clarity as the women looked upon themselves. The Power rose up in Shaygrin like an insuppressible sneeze.
'Oh,' she thought, detached. 'So that's what really happened.'
The Power shot a deep vein of disapproval into the back of her mind. 'You messed up big this time,' it seemed to say. Shaygrin felt apologetic. The interaction took less than a second. Without any prompting from Shay herself, the hand holding her gun rose, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet clanged against silver. There was a crackle, and then one link of chain slid down. That was all it took. Emboldened, her eyes blank holes, the younger Shaygrin swelled and lengthened, her limbs stretching as the Power took over. Her pupils vanished. Her body was no longer her own. The elder Shaygrin felt her own consciousness trickling back in sympathy, but pulled herself into control. Shaygrin's young body (for it was not Shay's mind which governed it) stretched, and her throat emitted a fearsome shriek, a cacophony of voices and animal howls of fury. The elder Shaygrin swallowed, her throat dry. She knew what was going to happen next.

She took Malberry's arm.
This is the bit where we run very fast, dear, and do not look back. Run!
Holding the young man, Shay took off running and an astounding clip for a self-proclaimed little old woman. She was sure-footed and speedy. She kept in shape, and took on a surprising amount of jobs in her spare time. Behind them, the screams of the crowd became terrified, and then scattered. An almighty crash rent the air into fragments as a very round man barreled through several branches to come to rest, torn nearly in half, wrapped around a tree. Shaygrin did not stop. She knew better than to do that. The wordless scream rang out again. It sounded close.

Shaygrin swore.
It's after us now, she grunted, not quite breathlessly.
The silver's made it quite insane. It hated when the body got damaged. Still does, but it's mellowed now. Explains why I couldn't remember much, though. Malberry!

She'd let go of him, and he'd run straight into it. It had materialised out of thin air, bloody froth dripping from its lips, its hands and front stained with gore. It moved quickly to intercept the young man. It didn't move quite right. There was a staleness to it, as if it had only watched Shay's body being moved, but didn't often do it itself. With a bellow of fury, it extended stretched, warped hands, and clamped down on Malberry's shoulders, its fingernails plunging through his flesh effortlessly. It roared again, in the voice of millions, picked up the man, and hurled him ferociously into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Shay thought that it was about time to intervene.
Stop that, she growled, but the thing in her body ignored her, making a beeline for the young man instead.

[Derelict Draught]

Culture shock. His goal was simple. Catch them off guard. Appear otherworldly while remaining familiar through language and reference. If nothing else the sudden presence would cause a distraction and they could free the trapped girl without much blood loss. That was the optimism speaking.

Of course the world consisted more of chaos than optimism. Things went downhill almost instantly. The weapon firing so close caused him to flinch. Why Shay would do something so foolish was beyond him. He considered commenting in response to her suggestion and action but the point was moot. Hell seemed to possess the girl the crowd so eagerly had pelted as she transformed into a monstrosity born of nightmares.

He was moving. He didn't remember choosing to run or even taking the first step, he just was running with Shay leading him. She kept talking to him, her words passing through his mind without grasping a firm hold. His mind turned over option after option searching for a way to calm things, prevent any more casualties. Then he hit her.

He was in the fryer. The girl's fingers stabbed into him like burning icicles as they sunken effortlessly through his flesh. His mouth opened in protest to the intrusion but the sensation stole the air from his body. Damage control. His feet rose to push away from his oppressor but they were too late.

A loud crack announced his arrival against the tree. His mind sputtered as his vision fought against the static which plagued his mind. To black out now would allow death. He needed a plan. A plan that a wretched body like his own could manage. How though? Lying at the base of a tree didn't give him many options. He couldn't move fast enough to escape her wrath. He needed to either strike against her which would cause more trouble or...

The gun on his back was cracked, the wood would sustain the first shot. Maybe the only shot. Aiming the fragile weapon straight up, he muttered a soft prayer before squeezing the trigger. The bullet tore through the base of a large branch sending breaks through the support structure and sending a large section of tree crashing down on top of him. The broken haft of the tree hurtles down and pierces the ground beneath him burying him beneath a mass of wood and leaves.

[Verdana]

Shaygrin could only watch in horror as the Power, unrestrained and merciless, advanced on Malberry, who lay mangled and breathless beneath the tree. Still alive, though, Shay noted with relief. There was hope yet. If she could just... 'No, Malberry, don't,' she thought desperately as she saw him draw his gun. If he shot at the Power, it would just make the being more furious. Silver hurt the body most effectively, and the bullets were lead. It would have been like shooting a rhinoceros with a BB gun. Fortunately, he was not that much of a fool. As Shay rushed forward, his bullet severed a large branch, which plunged over him, shielding him from sight.

Shaygrin didn't have much time. The Power would not be diverted for very long. As it stepped back, momentarily distracted, Shay threw herself at the being with a grunt.

The Power was angry, frenzied and did not like finding the body's usually-inexhaustible supply of energy nearly gone. It relied on that energy, for calling on its own was unreliable. It whirled with another shriek, but Shaygrin deftly avoided its probing fingers. She slammed her hand with brutal force into the creature's jaw and skull.
Stop it, she growled. The creature struggled and howled, but did not relent.
Stop it. A little more forcefully, then, Stop this right now.

With a bit of the Commander (an older, more controlled version of the Power) in her voice and, more importantly, her motherly no-nonsense attitude, she was a force to be reckoned with. She gave one more sharp blow to its head, and it stopped, breathing hard. She slid down off of its back, and turned to face it.
That's enough, she said calmly, addressing it in Sylvan. It had always preferred Sylvan.
We need him. You know that. You told me that. Now, take the body back, wake me up, and by the blade, don't let me remember this! It will completely warp the results.

The Power regarded Shay with blank eyes. It never showed real expression, although it could feel, when it chose to. Reluctantly, snarling, it hung its head.
Butterfly Empress, it formed with Shaygrin's lips, though the voice that came out of it was genderless, featureless and as discordant as a dropped piano.
It turned away, and disappeared into the trees.

Shay slumped with a sigh of relief. She hadn't known that she would succeed, though she had expected to. The Power responded oddly to being bossed around, especially by her. She often wished that she had discovered its obedience earlier. It would have made her life infinitely easier. She hastened over to Malberry, and hauled the branch off of him with surprising strength for such a small person. She looked down at him, her hands on her hips.
Are you still alive, dear?

She offered him her hand to help him up.
That was an awfully foolish thing to do, she reproached. You didn't need to drop a branch on yourself. I'm sure you've just made it worse. Now, be honest: How badly are you injured? I can't flit you if you're injured, you see. Too easy to lose limbs that way, especially when you're distracted. I should know. I lost one and a half legs, both arms and half of my face once. I never did find my ear, she said thoughtfully, fingering what seemed to be a perfectly normal one on the side of her head.

[Derelict Draught]

"I didn't? Could have fooled me. Clutter seemed to be better than lying at the base of a tree cursing at a Banshee."

Forgoing her offered hand lest more trouble arise and she need it, Malberry inches up the tree maintaining even pressure on his back. His eyes dart to the splintered weapon which lay by his feet. Twas a shame, he almost wanted to keep it as a memento .

"My heads throbbing, my ears are ringing and I'm very sensitive to light and sound but thats just the hangover starting. I hit the tree hard and heard a loud crack on impact. I'd tell you the status on the rest of my body but my vision is still filled with static and I'm completely numb. So you'd probably be a better judge. I know my arms and legs still work, thats about it."

Perhaps the numbness was a blessing, perhaps a curse. His body didn't truly hurt but he knew there would be damage if only from the claws and how deeply they'd pierced. If only he could feel his hands, search out any breaks or gouges that needed his attention. A soft sight slips over his lips as he looks at the static coated silhouette that he knew to be Shay.

"All around not bad considering what just happened. I see where Bree gets her temper though."

A smile spreads about Malberry's face as the static clears, vanishing as the darkness replaced it. Slumping against the tree, Malberry's body slips into silence while working to stabilize against the damage.

[Verdana]

Shay was relieved to see Malberry stand on his own, but her relief was short-lived. She did not answer the boy, frowning more and more as he listed his symptoms. It didn't take a medic to tell her that there was cause for worry. Concussion, at the very least. Was his spinal column displaced? She wasn't sure, but she couldn't travel with him anyway. Shaygrin started to feel antsy and resentful. They'd have to wait. She hadn't wanted to linger out of her usual time. It was dangerous. She turned irritably to the young man, intending to snap at him to sit down, but she was too late. With a smile, the young man keeled over, out cold.

Shaygrin contemplated him for a minute or too. She was tempted to flit him, but did not want to take the risk. She had never perfected the art of tracking limbs through the space-time continuum. She knelt beside him, placing a smooth, cool hand on his neck to check his pulse. A bit thready, but he wasn't in any danger. She looked around. She didn't want to move the boy, but didn't like their position. It was open, in a valley, and hard to defend. Pursing her lips, she lifted Malberry and slung him over her shoulders in a fireman's lift. Despite the fact that he was a good half-foot (if not more) taller than her, she could lift him with relative ease. Supporting his head and neck, she trudged off in search of a place to lay low.

After a decent half-hour of walking, Shaygrin found her spot. Against a hill, with a wall of rock to her back and a copse of trees covering her front, it provided two good escapes and one impenetrable barrier with plenty of wind cover. She set Marcus down with a sigh of relief. Her back twinged. She was getting older. She positioned the boy in recovery position, checking his body with professional indifference. He'd snapped a collarbone and two ribs, and he'd displaced a vertebra (which she slipped back into position as best she could) but nothing was fatal and he would be able to travel back before long.

She gave a tense sigh. She was trapped in the past, and didn't like it. She should have blocked her passage. Passengers were conspicuous. They made a lot of noise. Shaygrin couldn't afford to draw attention to herself. She'd made many powerful enemies in her life. People were looking for her. She didn't want to be found. Shrugging off her thin leather jacket, she slipped it over Malberry in an absent manner, tucking in the corners automatically. The air was brisk, but not chilly. She'd certainly suffered through worse. The boy would be thirsty when he woke up. She stood, pensive. She had best provide for her deputy.

It did not take her long to catch a rabbit, gather wood and find a spring, not far off, to fill her ever-present waterskin. Usually, this skin carried substances more potent than water, but Shay had not needed any such substances on her excursion. She started a good fire burning with the practiced ease of a woman who had spent a good portion of her life in the wilderness. She skinned and gutted the rabbit (it was a fat, healthy-looking creature), skewered it, and began to roast it. She had spent many nights alone in the wilderness, brave and proud and frightened out of her mind. There was something soothing about being out in uncertain territory.

She waited for Malberry to wake up without any particular eagerness. She did not want to rush him, but she hoped that he'd be awake for dinner. Burnt or cold rabbit was hardly any fun. She kept half an eye on him, making sure that his condition didn't start to change, and when he began to stir, she shuffled over to him, placing a maternal hand on his brow.
Hush, love. Easy, now. You're concussed, and you're going to feel very sore and a little bit confused. There's food here, and water, but you don't have to eat or drink. Easy, now. Take it slowly. Slowly, lad.

When he seemed slightly awake, Shay withdrew, no longer a mother. She was his boss again, kind if distant.

How are you feeling, dear, after your mauling? It's not a banshee, by the way. I wish it were a banshee. You can classify a banshee. Do something with it. The Power's... Unique.

[Derelict Draught]

They were everywhere.

Every corner seemed to bring with it another trap. Whoever lived here had taken drastic measures to keep their abode safe. The force of government agents had dwindled greatly dropping from 25 men to a mere 6. They pushed on though, keeping their captive in the middle where he'd remain safe. They needed him after all. Their expert on these...creatures had disappeared into thin air. Other agents were still attempting to track her down but they hadn't found anything yet.

Another trap, rigged to drop a section of stone roofing crushes the pointmen. Down to four. Taylor almost wished they'd let him lead...or at least speak. He'd learned to recognize the signs. He could predict the triggers for the traps yet he had no means to share his knowledge so man after man died pointlessly.

Only four left. They didn't have a chance if they did discover what they sought. The creatures would overwhelm them before the men discovered how to fight them. Another trap. A pitfall this time, Taylor managed to catch one of the men as he fell but the fool wriggled free from his grip and sent himself crashing down on the spikes.

Two.

Panic had slowly set into the group now all that remained was a rookie and the groups leader. The leader was green while the rook...Well he was already running. The remaining man watched as the rookie ran. Taylor couldn't blame him. He would have run himself if his handcuffs weren't attached to the leader. The curses that escaped the man bore a Russian accent, the dialect suggesting an upbringing in Moscow herself. That explained the stronger stomach.

The Russian seemed to study Taylor a moment, contemplating what to do. They could run. The hope shone in Taylor's eyes even as the Russian's lips parted. Where there should have been words, a long, thing blade protruded. The Russian's body slumps to the floor even as the blade slides free. Behind the crumpling flesh stands a figure in full knight's armor.

Taylor remains still, silent as the dead man to which he was bound. The blade flashes in the dim light as the chain of Taylor's cuffs breaks. My employer has need of your services, Kieron Taylor.

-----

"I've been worse. Didn't wake up thinking I was Kieron Taylor which is a plus. A proper noun? Must be more to that than simply morphing into a horrendous beast then."

Malberry adjusts his position slightly allowing his muscles to tense around the wounds causing a fresh sting. It felt good to hurt again. Carelessly he stares into the flames watching the flickering dance and the heat rippling the air. He was fortunate to be alive, again, the damage the Power had done to the villagers he'd seen was far more drastic.

"Have any of the others witnessed this?"

Other questions swirled about his mind regarding a million smaller aspects of what occurred. The very nature of when they were and how they came to be there. How despite the odds he continued to survive time and again. How much control she truly possessed over the Power. How she'd come to be in Germany at that particular moment. How old she really was.

These thoughts and more race about his dulled mind as he watched the flame. They wouldn't be safe for long, not if instinct held true. He could move soon...Just needed to get used to being broken again then he'd be fine. Not like there were any other options. "When are we?"

[Verdana]

Shaygrin smiled, amused and impressed by Malberry's resilience.
Good lad, she answered, turning her attention to the rabbit, which was cooked to a perfect golden brown.
Perhaps that blow to the head was some use to you, after all. You haven't woken up remembering your name in a while, have you? The comment was made in a perfectly nonchalant tone, but it was not an absent-minded observation.
She pulled a knife out of her pocket, and examined it carefully.
But really, dear, how are you feeling? I need to know. I can't take you home if you're not well. Please, be honest. I'll be awfully angry if I have to go on a wild goose chase to find your body parts.

After giving her knife a perfunctory rub on her shirt, she flicked her grip on it, and with one precise blow, lopped neatly down the middle of the rabbit. Rodent spine and sturdy stick were cleaved cleanly in half. Shaygrin took both ends before they dropped into the fire, and handed one to Marcus.
Try to eat, but don't if you're not ready, she advised.
Are you thirsty? There's water over there. Drink something, dear. You look pale. She trailed off, and then laughed, embarrassed.
I'm sorry, she muttered.
However hard you try, you can't switch off motherhood.

She had heard his questions, and was not avoiding them. She was thinking them through, taking her time to answer them correctly. The last one was the easiest to answer, and after a pause, and two good mouthfuls of sweet rabbit, she dealt with that one first.
We're in the early nineteenth century, she said slowly, As far as I can recall. It was a long time ago, and I did not record dates well when I first settled here. I was very confused, angry and lonely. It didn't help that the Power was so angry with me. I made a rather rebellious life choice, which has left a lot of people dissatisfied and baying for my blood.

The subject of the Power had been broached. She could try to tackle it then. His second question was relatively easy to answer.
Oh, most of the Wren has met the Commander, dear. The Commander is something of an off-branch of the Power, easier to control, and with a better sense of fair play. It helps Bree to assign assassins for me on a daily basis. I'm surprised that you never ran into it. You probably did, and just didn't realise it. The Commander's careful not to stretch me as much, and can pass for me quite well now. Look for the bun, she advised, nibbling at her rabbit's leg.
It wears a tight bun so that people can distinguish between us and not get themselves killed. It has absolutely no empathy whatsoever, she added, almost as an afterthought. Evidently, empathy was much on her mind.

Malberry was looking for an explanation on the Power, but Shaygrin was not sure that she had one. She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
After that encounter, she euphemised, I feel that you deserve an explanation of the Power. Unfortunately, I don't have a good one. I'm sure that my mother tried to explain it to me, but I was a restless child and spent a great deal of energy ignoring her. As far as I can tell, it's a very distinct being which has been passed down from generation to generation. My mother called it 'the Guide' and that's as nice a way to put it as any. It tries to make me stick to a very distinct path. So far, I've veered so far off of that path that I suspect it's entirely given up on me.
In between sentences, Shaygrin had finished her rabbit. She picked her teeth with a small bone, and then buried the remains so as not to attract predators.

You're wrong, though. Neither of my children have ever shown any sign of picking up the Power. It's a great mercy. So, Bree's temper is the result of my own, if anything, and often I wonder how much of that extraordinary temper is real, and how much is a defense mechanism.

She played meditatively with her last remaining bone.

So, she said, with warning-light brightness,
Should we talk about my dubious past, empathy, or should we talk about your mysteries and secrets instead?

It was as clear a sign as any for Malberry to stop questioning her and allow her to place herself somewhere where she was more comfortable.

[Derelict Draught]

Malberry sits and listens.

As nutrient deprived as his recovering body was and as much as he needed the protein offered by the cooked rabbit, he couldn't stand the scent much less the substance. Were the circumstances any different, he would have wolfed the meat down and savored the burns. This moment varied though. His stomach still felt as though his anatomy changed to incorporate his stomach as a section of his throat. The bruising around his broken ribs didn't invite the concept of breathing much less eating either.

"I'm in one piece with nothing dangling that shouldn't be. Aside from that, OW."

He considered that a fairly accurate explanation, every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire though he suspected that to be a result of whatever caused his numbness either being corrected or simply wearing off. As much as his body screamed against existence, his mind finally seemed to clear of both liquor and blunt trauma.

His mind raced to sort the events he'd witness and break down the words and images he'd picked up on since the fight. Early nineteenth century meant he'd jumped in front of the firing squad with his earlier stunt. The Power appeared a separate and psyche rooted entity. Something clearly old and bearing a menacing strength. Bad news in both instances. Butterfly Empress. Foreboding. The title promised more appearances and Shay seemed to think her time growing short. More troubling.

"Far more than I expected you to share. Wha-"

A soft scrape steals Malberry's mind from his words. Close. Metal on stone. One? No. There had to be a group. No one would roam alone wearing armaments after the terror that struck the village and plagued the air. They were close, very close. His muscles tensed, his mind scanned the environment looking for any way to help fend off an assault.

Too late.

The armored figures flooded the open space as a wall, their rifles and blades bared. The attack had been planned well, antiquated Knights wearing modern armor poured in from both directions. Their blades glistened in the light of the fire a thin liquid coating the weapons as they advanced. The reflection in the blades caused the hair on Malberry's neck to rise. Something about them seemed wrong. Guaranteeing death previously denied.

Forcing his mind into a passenger state, Malberry shifts in the hopes of angling himself to better counter the attackers. There were over a dozen of them. An armored priest tailed behind them, his words hanging about them in the air, promising recompense for vanquishing the lord's enemies. Kill all remnants of the Old Ones.

The fight failed to last long, or at least Malberry's did. Two blades hacked away at the air about him, each being deflected by the confusion of a rabbit half being shoved up a man's nose.The foolishness of his unpredictable counter attack ended as a cold barrel pressed against his neck. The moment he was still the priest had doused him with a foul smelling liquid they claimed to be holy water.

Maybe if the priest DRANK the holy water first...

As one might imagine, the rancid substance stung his open wounds profusely as more Knights grasped him and pinned him under their sheer weight. Words passed among the men, their dialects blurring the language with pain. Key snippets reached him. Morning. Crucify. Schise.

[Derelict Draught]

The fight didn't last much longer. Shay put up a good fight but there were too many and they were too well armed. The Knights subdued them and dragged them to a nearby camp. A wooden cart with thick metal inlays lay waiting for the group a rich rust coating the iron plating.

Several priests roamed the camp eagerly pouring through archaic texts in the search for some tidbit of knowledge which would aid in their cause. Only the ring of Knights rivaled the bustling activity within the small camp. Their armors glistened in the waning light as they marched about the muck. The dozen Knights signaled to the sentry in the camp alerting the priests to the quarries arrival.

Immediately the camp grew still, all eyes turning to the approaching cart. They'd received word of the Banshee not long before, only good fortune placed them within an hours ride of the village. Now they held the creature captive ready to purge her and her companion from the world of the one true Lord.

Within the cart, Malberry leans against the wall, his hands shackled tightly by the bonds extending from the wall. Since the moment the Knight's appeared he'd known their fate, now he just needed to accept that fate. They were in the midst of a Purge, the Church's attempt to eliminate all traces of the old religions. Unfortunately, they qualified as threats.

Settling into the captive mindset, Malberry abandons all illusions of escaping the shackles, the metal was heavy and he lacked the equipment necessary to breach such an arcane and heavy latch. A soft sigh escapes him as he studies the cage about them. "Never thought I'd be done in by priests. Rather ironic really."

Pressing his back against the wall harder to better support himself, he cuts a glance at his cell mate. "How are you holding up? They didn't seem to displeased about catching you, I think they were smiling even."

[Verdana]

Complacent. She couldn't believe it. She'd gotten complacent! In a foreign time period, no less. There was no doubt about it; she was getting old. Not that she let this show. She fought like a cornered weasel, bending and slashing. Her fighting style was archaic, energy-conserving but distinctly feminine. She altered it to suit different opponents, to disarm and strike at them where they were weakest. She may even have broken through and been able to make a run for it, had she not been hit by the stinging, stinking liquid. She yelled out in pain, lost her footing. She gathered herself back up, but it hurt. It was all over her face. She couldn't focus. She kept reaching up to wipe it away.

They put up a valiant fight, but it was no good. They were soon caught.

The attackers (Shaygrin seemed to be encountering plenty of those) shackled her and Malberry, caged them and placed them in a cart. Shay was grateful that the shackles were only iron. If they had been silver, she would have been in a lot more trouble. She sighed. The 'holy water' was doing its job all too well. Some had gotten into her eye. Her vision was growing blotchy. She swore vehemently. The motion stretched her tender skin, and she swore again.

Think it's ironic for you, Shay muttered. Her voice was sticky and bubbled in her throat.
I was raised by a holy. True, he was a vampire, but still. Seems contr'dictory. She spat, not caring about late twenty-first century images. She quickly reverted to the young savage she once was.

She turned to Malberry as he addressed her, and she smiled wryly. A shaft of light hit her face. The skin was melting off of it, exposing muscle and bone. Her eye was fizzling softly. Her teeth stood out, bared in a vicious snarl.
I'm holdin' up jus' fine, she growled irritably. She yanked at the cuffs in vain.
So, how should we spend our las' momen's? I'd like nothin' more than a good, strong drink.

She spat again, tasting blood.
Holy bloody water...