Chapter 6 (Continued)

[AftermathGM]

The tray clatters noisily to the floor as Asra's shaking hands shoot up and a blindingly bright flash of hard light slices through the air. The thought was to remove the threat. The threat currently being the hand holding that knife. Luckily for everyone involved, a heavy wave a nausea hits Asra when she pulls upon her power, causing that sizzling plane of light to crash against the wall behind the two goons, leaving a smoldering scar that nearly robbed the older man of his knife hand.

Asra is pale and shaking as she holds her hand aloft, her pupils dilated as she stares at the wound on the wall. She can feel Georg's eyes on her (or maybe she's just imagining it), but its enough for her to whirl on him.

"Don't look at me like that!" she squeaks indignantly, her voice quivering with adrenaline. "I am NOT good in high-pressure situations, and I did NOT sign up for a hostage negotiation!"

The knife-wielder startles badly, which puts the knife even more firmly against Calim's neck. A bright line of blood appears, a tiny droplet crawling down his skin. "What in Altam's HELLS?" the knife-wielder shouts. He would be more intimidating if his voice didn't crack halfway through. He staggers back until his back is against the wall, his grip on Calim growing even tighter. There could be some question of whether he's likely to cut Calim's throat or strangle him first.

[Georg Elsebethson]

It's all a bloody colossal mess. One of the major lessons every Granite scholar has to learn sooner or later is that there's nothing simple or straightforward about violence, no matter how the stories told afterward usually go. Real enemies aren't faceless dummies who stand still and don't make you feel bad about hitting them; they aren't even sparring opponents who act with the calm of someone who knows that their opponent isn't really trying to hurt them, even if accidents can happen. A real enemy is distressingly full of thoughts, emotions, and adrenaline, and is usually either reacting (badly) to a half-formed awareness of what is happening or else enacting a plan that stopped making sense several steps previous.

Case in point: this fucking guy taking a hostage without an exit strategy. What does he think is going to happen? They'll shrug their shoulders, turn around, and leave? Even if that were at all likely on any page in the book of existence, he's just blabbed who his boss is, so he's still screwed if he lets them go, and if he thought he could stop them he wouldn't have taken a hostage in the first place. Georg is about to preempt the bastard with this line of thought before he gets there on his own and does something even worse, when a blinding flash of light shoots past him and narrowly misses the man's hand, cutting a nasty-looking swath in the wall behind them.

So that's the 'reacting badly' example sorted, then, Georg thinks as he turns to stare at Asra, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. Maybe someday I'll use this as an illustrative anecdote. He'll have to change the names to protect the innocent—i.e., himself—of course. Then he hears the sound of a lot of boxes crashing to the ground and he winces, because deep down he still remembers being an awkward preteen breaking everything in sight.

"What in Altam's HELLS?" the knife-wielder shouts. He would be more intimidating if his voice didn't crack halfway through. He staggers back until his back is against the wall, his grip on Calim growing even tighter. There could be some question of whether he's likely to cut Calim's throat or strangle him first.

Georg sighs. Back to business. "You." He points a finger at the knife-wielder and makes for the door. "Stay put. If the door is magically locked, there's no harm in letting me check it, right?" Maybe this whole thing is one big bluff, but if it's not, there still might be a way to take the door, and thus, the rationale for cutting Calim's throat, out of the equation. Georg doubts he'll get anywhere with him until he has a chance to collect his wits anyway.

[AftermathGM]

"Sure, go ahead," the man says, but he makes certain to move in concert to maintain as much distance between himself (and Calim by extension) and Georg.

When the noise sounds from inside the room where Iana's being held, he takes the opportunity he's not going to get again. He gives Calim a hearty shove toward Georg and makes a break for the stairs. He's going to have to shove Asra out of the way, and from the set of his shoulders, he's ready to give her a full-on body check.

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

Asra isn't totally fond of being left on her own after freaking out like that. Especially not now that she's feeling nauseous again. But before she can even think about following Georg...

When the noise sounds from inside the room where Iana's being held, he takes the opportunity he's not going to get again. He gives Calim a hearty shove toward Georg and makes a break for the stairs. He's going to have to shove Asra out of the way, and from the set of his shoulders, he's ready to give her a full-on body check.

There's a part of Asra that marvels at the stupidity of a cornered combatant. She had just demonstrated that she has incredible firepower at her disposal, and a tendency to be jumpy. Yet she was still determined to be the lesser threat by this man who is now charging at her on his way to the door...

Making her the stupid, cornered combatant.

With an incredibly undignified shriek of panic, Asra's hands go up between them as she shrinks in on herself defensively. A blinding flash fills the small space in an instant, and in the next, two people are laying on the floor. A sizzling arc has joined the other on the wall behind Calim and the other man, broken by the spaces where they both were only moments ago.

Its best not to describe what happens to a man when he's strike by a blade of hard light hot enough to cauterize the wound it makes, but its safe to say that he is not longer among the living. Luckily for Calim (or unluckily depending on the person witnessing the event), he isn't dead yet, though a portion of his shoulder looks painfully askew and is still sizzling.

Asra stands there in shock, unsure of what to do at the moment.

[Georg Elsebethson]

"Sure, go ahead," the man says, but he makes certain to move in concert to maintain as much distance between himself (and Calim by extension) and Georg.

When the noise sounds from inside the room where Iana's being held, he takes the opportunity he's not going to get again. He gives Calim a hearty shove toward Georg and makes a break for the stairs. He's going to have to shove Asra out of the way, and from the set of his shoulders, he's ready to give her a full-on body check.

Under different circumstances, Georg would have been happy to let the bastard run, especially since he was dropping Calim like so much dead weight. It's certainly preferable to having someone bleed out. He can't have him sounding an alarm or rounding up reinforcements, though, so he's preparing to deflect Calim before hurling a suitable projectile back when Asra's itchy casting fingers go off again.

"Shit," Georg says as the smell of charred flesh fills his nostrils. The guy clearly isn't getting back up after that, but unfortunately Asra didn't wait for a clear line of fire before letting loose, and Calim's in a bad way. Thinking back to his training for how to deal with burns from spells or burning oil, Georg grabs a folded up blanket from on top a crate and uses it to elevate Calim's shoulder. "See what happens when you run with the wrong crowd?" He mutters. "Someone tries to take your arm off." He tears a strip from his shirt and uses it to lightly cover the wound, then motions for Asra. "Watch him. Make sure he keeps breathing. Don't put any pressure on that wound."

Even if by some miracle no one else heard what's going on in the basement, it's only a matter of time before someone else comes to check on things, so Georg can only spare a moment to make sure Asra's got it together enough to watch Calim before going to the door he had been moving towards. "Here's hoping the warding's for shit."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

"Shit," Georg says as the smell of charred flesh fills his nostrils. The guy clearly isn't getting back up after that, but unfortunately Asra didn't wait for a clear line of fire before letting loose, and Calim's in a bad way. Thinking back to his training for how to deal with burns from spells or burning oil, Georg grabs a folded up blanket from on top a crate and uses it to elevate Calim's shoulder. "See what happens when you run with the wrong crowd?" He mutters. "Someone tries to take your arm off." He tears a strip from his shirt and uses it to lightly cover the wound, then motions for Asra. "Watch him. Make sure he keeps breathing. Don't put any pressure on that wound."

Asra is immensely glad for Georg's guidance through this crisis. It's bad enough that she killed a man ('O's and A, SHE KILLED A MAN!), but now this young man was caught in the crossfire.

She kneels next to Calim, her face white as a ghost since she's still struggling with the nausea of her magic's backlash earlier, and nods to Georg's instructions.

Her hands quiver with anxiety as she does basic first aid and checks for vitals and tries to make him comfortable with soothing noises and gentle touches, trying to assure him it'll all be okay. She could try healing him, but she is not trained with that kind of magic.

[AftermathGM]

Calim stares back at Asra as she tends to him, but there's little in the way of thought or recognition. He doesn't fight as Asra checks him over. His vitals show signs of distress: his pulse is rapid, his breathing shallow, his skin pale. He's going to need some real healing help before long.

As Asra takes care of Calim as best she can, Georg checks on the door. Not having any abilities that would tell him about the strength of any warding or the danger of any particular trap, it's hard to know exactly what to do next. It seems logical, though, that it wouldn't likely be particularly dangerous. People have been going in and out of the room, judging by the fact that they've delivered food and water inside, so if anything the formerly knife-wielding corpse against the wall probably just kept it locked to the particular key he suggested. Calim remains alive, but not in any shape to be unlocking a door.

Georg puts his hand on the door latch, half-expecting a zap, but nothing happens. He pushes down and is rewarded with a familiar click and the door pushes slightly open, as though the damp wood was warped enough to push against the closing mechanism. A bluff then. A complete bluff.

The inside of the room is dimly lit, only a single flickering light globe hanging suspended from the ceiling. The room is also empty of any hostages. There are a few crates stacked against the far wall, a few old chairs pushed into one corner, an undefinable stain on the wooden floor, the general detritus of a largely abandoned room. But no Iana in sight and no doors that would lead to another room.

Maybe it wasn't so much a bluff as it was misdirection? Maybe if Knife Guy hadn't been sliced open and Calim wasn't currently nonverbal, they could provide more information.

[Ianaeveli Tigenet]

Muffled sounds filter through the closed door, and Iana's head lifts as she blinks the tears away from her eyes. She needs clear vision right now - and more importantly, clear thoughts.

For the first few moments, it is hard to tell what is going on. There are voices. More than one person: she can hear different pitches, but nothing more than that, not even enough to know how many. More than two, she suspects, but would not swear to it.

Footsteps. Just a changing of the guard? No, they are scuffling, she thinks - and her keen senses sharpen…

…until everything goes abruptly dark.

Iana chokes back a whimper. Clear head, she tells herself, battling down the panic that has been rolling through her in waves ever since she was first cornered in the library. Do not lose yourself now.

There is a sharp clatter. A high-pitched shout. Iana still cannot make out more than the barest shape of the words, but the voice is finally loud enough that she can tell one thing for certain: it is Asra.

Wild reckless hope flares in Iana. The rescue is here! If Asra is here, then she is almost certainly not alone.

Iana lurches towards where she knew those boxes were: the precarious ones, the ones that would tip over if they were given even the slightest nudge.

The ones that would tip over and make a lot of noise if they were given the slightest nudge.

And she gives them as much more of a nudge as she can manage, throwing all of her force behind it, trying to make a sound that her friends will hear.

[Georg Elsebethson]

As Asra takes care of Calim as best she can, Georg checks on the door. Not having any abilities that would tell him about the strength of any warding or the danger of any particular trap, it's hard to know exactly what to do next. It seems logical, though, that it wouldn't likely be particularly dangerous. People have been going in and out of the room, judging by the fact that they've delivered food and water inside, so if anything the formerly knife-wielding corpse against the wall probably just kept it locked to the particular key he suggested. Calim remains alive, but not in any shape to be unlocking a door.

Georg puts his hand on the door latch, half-expecting a zap, but nothing happens. He pushes down and is rewarded with a familiar click and the door pushes slightly open, as though the damp wood was warped enough to push against the closing mechanism. A bluff then. A complete bluff.

The inside of the room is dimly lit, only a single flickering light globe hanging suspended from the ceiling. The room is also empty of any hostages. There are a few crates stacked against the far wall, a few old chairs pushed into one corner, an undefinable stain on the wooden floor, the general detritus of a largely abandoned room. But no Iana in sight and no doors that would lead to another room.

Maybe it wasn't so much a bluff as it was misdirection? Maybe if Knife Guy hadn't been sliced open and Calim wasn't currently nonverbal, they could provide more information.

Georg considers the door handle before touching it. It's probably fine. It wouldn't make sense to put some kind of fatal trap on a door people have to use regularly. But then, every time Georg has expected some baseline level of reasonableness or concern for people's safety—even their own lackeys—from this outfit, he's been wrong. They're apparently very big on the whole "fail and you die" thing, so maybe they're okay with someone tripping into the door on accident and having a heart attack?

At any rate, it's not like Georg has many options on how to proceed. He puts his hand on the door handle. Nothing. He lightly pushes down on it until the latch disengages. Still nothing. He gently wafts the door open with the lightest of pushes. It simply opens.

"Son of a bitch."

There isn't even anyone inside. All that so that Knife Guy could die for an empty room. Georg is turning around to look for another door when he hears the crash. His head snaps back. It sounded like it came from behind the crates stacked against the far wall. He makes his way into the room, checking the corners for any weasels or swinging scythe traps, then moves to inspect the crates.